The Mariner's Revenge
by Georgiraffe09
Summary: When Jack was three, his mother died tragically after a fateful relationship with the evil Pitch Black. Bent on revenge, Jack spends the next twenty years searching for the very same man. This is the story of his quest. Adventure AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Welcome all who have stumbled upon this new story of mine._

 _This piece has been bumping around in my head for some time and I've decided to finally get it written. This is inspired completely by the song "The Mariner's Revenge" by the Decemberists which I highly suggest listening to at some point. I'm rating it T for now, but it's entirely possible it may up to M due to language and violence. This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fantasy piece, hopefully it doesn't disappoint!_

 _While I am classing this as a Frozen/ROTG crossover, this story will focus more on Jack than anything else and it will take some time for any romance to show up._

 _I love reviews, constructive or otherwise, so if a thought strikes you, I'd love to hear it!_

 _Without further ado, enjoy!_

 **Standard Disclaimer:** I don't own ROTG, Frozen, or the lyrics to Mariner's Revenge.

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 **The Mariner's Revenge**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

The first thing Jack notices is the stench.

It is a putrid, foul stench of rotting flesh and seawater, choking him as he attempts to regain normal breath. Gulping air into his lungs, he cringes as the nauseating taste of death clings to his tongue like an unwelcome glove.

The next thing he notices is the wetness.

His entire lower body is submerged in what feels like ocean water mixed with fish guts. It isn't an unfamiliar texture, but one he does not willingly choose to essentially bath in. He finds that his torso is currently flopped over something resembling the texture of wood. It's a strange position, as if he had been flung through the air, landing like a rag doll against the solid protrusion.

His mind is foggy and clouded as he tries to open his eyes, the weight of his lids pressing down like iron clamps, preventing sight. With Herculean effort, he manages a small slit, vision blurred as he attempts to focus.

There is a throbbing pain in his head. Dragging his arm upright, he gingerly fingers the back of his skull, discovering a swollen mass that accounts for his discomfort.

It takes a moment of simple blinking before Jack can begin to process where he is. The strange, damp cavern is dark and dripping wet, full of strange shapes that cast shadows against the unsightly walls.

 _How did I get here?_

Shaking, Jack pushes himself to standing and examines his current bodily support. It is a bit rough and slightly splintered, and he can tell it isn't wood. There are strange, sinewy bits of...something...clinging to the object in random places.

Then it hits him.

These are bones. Ribs, to be more precise, with bits of flesh still dangling from the rounded arcs in a horrifying display of decay.

Shoving away, Jack watches the ribcage clatter and splash onto the flooded ground. They float as if mocking him somehow, reminding him that wherever he is, escape is doubtful.

Closing his eyes, Jack forces his breathing to even and his mind to still. There is something familiar about all this and it's as if the memories are picking at the edges of his brain, tantalizing and just out of reach. The last thing he can remember was being on the ship. And they were almost there, they had been so agonizingly close, then something...something happened...

There is a dull bump against his leg as a piece of debris drifts through the swampy waters. His eyes snap open, zeroing in on this latest interruption.

It's an arm.

A bloated human arm, cracked and severed just above the elbow leaving behind a trail of red in its path.

Along the wrists, there are small feathered bangles, ruined and caked with blood and guts.

He knows this arm…

Suddenly, a wave of images hits him, nearly knocking him over as knowledge floods his mind.

He was on the ship. They were all on the ship. And they were so close to their goal, that bastard had been in sight, when the whale…

A god damn giant whale had swallowed the entire fucking ship.

Griefs crashes on him as he knows with certainty the bodies of his crew-mates were somewhere in here, crushed and broken, half chewed by the terrifying beast. Cursing, Jack kicks at nothing, water splashing loudly as his words reverberate off the walls of his living prison.

"Who's there?"

Stilling, Jack crouches immediately. Someone else had survived? But...that isn't a voice he knows. Peering over the edge of wreckage he recognizes as his own craft, he tries to find the source of this unknown voice.

Shadows. How had he not realized shadows meant a light source? And a light source meant someone put it there?

"Show yourself!" The voice is loud and brash, but Jack detects a hint of fear.

He moves stealthily, wading through the filthy murk, a predator in search of his prey. By watching the shadows, he quickly pinpoints a direction for his hunt.

"Whoever you are, I'm warning you, don't fuck with me! I'm armed!"

The words ring false, but Jack can tells he's close. Back pressed against the hull of a ruined fishing vessel, he cranes his neck just past the edge, eyes locking on his desired target.

It's a man. He's wounded, that's clear from the way he's clutching his leg, grimacing with every twitch of muscles. Somehow, he's managed to light a small torch that's propped between a rotting corpse and a destroyed ship's mast, casting him in an ominous glow. His greasy black hair falls limply over his forehead, skin an ashen pale hue that suggests illness.

But it's his eyes that draw Jack's attention.

They're yellow. The color of bile. Of jaundice. Of death.

And they are full of fear.

The last time he had seen those eyes was nearly twenty years ago. At the time, they had been filled with an overconfident malice that had caused the child version of himself to cower and whimper like a beaten pet.

But that didn't matter. He would recognize those putrid orbs anywhere.

Jack's chest swells, heart beating rapidly as he stares at the vulnerable man before him. Twenty years of searching. Twenty years of grasping at straws, nearly giving up. Twenty years of blood and sweat and a lifetime of future days that now would never be. Twenty years of his life, and he had finally found him.

He had finally found Pitch Black.

Maddened with blood lust, Jack's lips twist in a sick grin. There was something so sweet seeing the object of his vengeance like this: injured and afraid and completely helpless.

Inhaling deeply, Jack's body stills, a calm before the inevitable storm. It was now or never.

His steps are slow and methodical as he makes his way towards Pitch, the only sound that of the splashing waves against his shins.

"Finally decided to come out of hiding, did you?"

Pitch's breath catches in his throat at the sight of the approaching phantom that is Jack. The light illuminates the pale face and silver-white hair of the young man in a ghostly glow. His crystal blue eyes are steel as he fixes his gaze on the trembling man before him.

"Do you know who I am?"

Pitch stares at him, confused as he looks this strange boy over, taking in his appearance fully.

"Never seen you before in my life."

"That's where you're wrong."

Slowly, Jack takes a step closer, eyes locked on his prey.

"We are two mariner's. Our ship's sole survivors, stuck in this belly of a whale. It's ribs are ceiling beams, it's guts are carpeting. And here we are, trapped, until we die of starvation and are digested along with the dead that float around us. I guess we have some time to kill."

Sitting on a nearby pile of debris, Jack faces Pitch fully. The single light of the torch washes the cold, hard lines of his face in menacing shadows, gaze piercing as he looks into those frightened yellow eyes.

"You may not remember me. Last we met, I was but a child of three and you were a lad of eighteen. But I remember you, Pitch Black. And I will relate to you how our histories interweave…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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I can clearly remember the day my father died. Or at least, the day we received the news.

It was a beautiful day. We lived on a very small farm on the outskirts of town and springtime blossoms had just begun to bloom, decorating our little world in a swirl of color. Birds were singing through the trees and the sun was slanting at a soft, golden angle as it warmed my cheeks.

I remember thinking it was strange for the world to look so perfect while my mother sobbed in our doorway.

My father was a fisherman, and at the age of three I could count on one hand the number of times he had been home since my birth. He spent long months at sea and often traveled to neighboring villages to sell his fish before returning to his awaiting family. Our plot of land was just large enough to sustain us while he was away but still small enough that my mother could manage on her own.

When I think back on that day, I should've been more upset. My father was dead. But if I'm honest, I was more disturbed by mother's weeping than anything else. She was my world, and seeing her in pain had always distressed me to a breaking point.

It was midday when we received the news. A young man with stringy black hair and waxy skin arrived at our doorstep carrying a small bundle beneath his arm. I was playing happily beneath our oak tree, enacting a small battle between my wooden knights and a nasty green dragon.

But I stopped the moment my mother's pained wail pierced my ears.

Standing cautiously, I tottered my way across the grass, watching as my mother gripped the wood frame at the entrance to our home, slumping against it in defeat.

"Mama?"

Her watery eyes found mine. She reached a hand out, beckoning me to her breast. I obliged without question, concerned as to what this man had said to make my mother so distraught.

Falling to her knees, she hugged me tightly to her breast. One hand ran a soothing circle along my back as the other rested against the my head.

"My little darling," she whispered hoarsely, "my brave boy. Your father...you know your father loves you, very much. Don't you dear?"

"Yes...is papa coming home soon?"

A strangled sound escaped her throat as she gripped me tighter.

"No, honey. Your Papa...he's had an accident, my darling."

"An...accident?"

"Yes, sweetie. He...he won't be coming home anymore."

I tried to digest what this meant exactly. He wouldn't be coming home? But that didn't make sense. I may not have known my father well, but he always came home.

"Why?"

For a moment, she didn't speak and I was worried she hadn't heard me. But before I could repeat my question, she took a deep breath and loosened her grip, holding me at arm's length. Her glassy eyes found mine as her fingers traced my cheek lovingly.

"Do you remember the little bird you found last month? The little robin?"

Frowning, I cast my gaze downwards, kicking the ground with my toe.

"Yes."

How could I forget? I had found the little bird, barely old enough to leave the nest, in a broken pile beneath our window. It was clinging to life and I had tried my hardest to nurse it back to health. But it was no use. The poor thing died within three days and I cried for a week.

"Your Papa, he's...he's with your robin now."

I stared at her for a long moment. It was a simple explanation, but it was enough.

In one step, I was back in her arms, wrapping my little ones about her neck as she wept silently into the crook of my neck.

"I'm terribly sorry about all this."

Starting at the interruption, I turned to stare at the source of the foreign voice. I had forgotten about the messenger. He had made my mother cry. I was immediately suspicious of him.

Standing, Mama wiped clinging drops from her lashes as she offered a sad smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"It isn't your fault. Thank you. For letting me know, I mean. It's better that we know what happened."

"He was a fine fisherman. I was honored he hired me on, even if only to swab the deck." Thrusting his arms forward, he handed my mother the small bundle. "These are the possessions I was able to save after the storm."

She took it from him reverently, one hand hovering over the contents as if they might explode at any moment. As if it could hurt her.

While my only family was occupied, I took a moment to examine the harbinger of our misfortune. He was tall and lean, with jet black hair that fell into his eyes messily. His skin was ghostly pale, jaw long and pointed, and he stood stiffly as he addressed us like an audience. There was something strange about his voice. I had never heard a sailor who spoke like that. He sounded...he sounded like the important rich people I had encountered on rare occasions. But it didn't sound normal. It sounded like he was pretending. Like he was forcing himself to sound important. I didn't like it.

And then there were his eyes. They were the oddest color I had ever seen. A strange, sickly yellow that reminded me of vomit. Despite his curled lips and the false sweetness in his words, his eyes were cold and I felt anything but comfort when looking into them.

"What was your name again?" My mother's voice was soft and raspy as she stared at the items in her arms.

"Peter, ma'am. Peter Black."

"Peter -"

...

" _You can stop this silly tale, boy. If you're going to tell me some sob story about your whore mother and how I ruined your life with some bad news, you're wasting your time. I don't give two shits."_

 _Jack stares at him, gaze hard as the injured man snarls, leg muscles spasming violently._

" _You will sit and listen and if you dare call my mother a whore again, I'll rip out your tongue," his cobalt blue eyes glitter with something dangerous. "Are we clear?"_

 _There is a pause, the only sound the sloshing of the sludgy seawater against the ruined remnants of the whale's former victims._

" _Crystal."_

 _..._

"What's your name again?"

"Peter, ma'am. Peter Black."

"Peter. You seem so young to be a sailor."

"Not so young, ma'am. My 18th name day passed but six months ago."

"18...yes, I suppose that would be old enough."

Her voice was too quiet and fragile. It wasn't right. Reaching for her hand, I drew my body close to her side, clinging to her skirts as I tried not to stare at those harsh, yellow eyes.

My mother absently took my hand, attention still focused on the stranger before her.

"I'm sorry for my...emotional display earlier. I didn't mean-"

"Ma'am, please. Don't apologize. It is I who should apologize, to have to deliver such terrible news. I'm sorry, I shouldn't still be here. I'll leave you are your son in private."

Good. I didn't want him to stay.

"No, please. Let me offer you a hot meal. You traveled all this way, it's the least we could do."

He paused for a moment before offering her a sickeningly sweet smile, all sharp teeth and distorted sympathy.

"Thank you, Mrs. Frost. That would be most kind."

"Please, call me Clara." She stepped aside, allowing him entrance before following into our modest home.

I stared after them, rooted to my spot in the doorway as their voices drifted to my ears. My stomach flipped and it felt as if ice was slowly seeping into my heart, freezing it in my chest.

My mother had invited him inside. She had let him in.

That was her first mistake.

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 **A/N:** _Thanks to anyone who has decided to read this little tale! There hasn't been much traffic so far, but my fingers are crossed it picks up steam. I know the action is starting a bit slow, but it will pick up I promise._

 _As I am venturing into this new genre (I honestly feel more comfortable writing fluffy romance so this is a big step) I would really love some feedback. Any reviews, even if they are criticism, would be amazing. I am totally open to editing and changing the piece if it's not working for people._

 _I will be out of the country in Israel June 17th-29th, so I'll try to get another chapter up before I leave, but I'll likely start updates again in July._

 _As always, thanks for reading!_


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